


you must love me

by parjil



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Any child of Boba's would be intimidating, Bad Military/Spy Jargon, Boba is Pining, Breastfeeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Dad Boba, Established Relationship, F/M, Fenn is up to Fenn Stuff and Boba aint about it, Fluff and Angst, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Lactation Kink, Married Sex, No use of y/n, Pregnancy, Reunion Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, non-graphic puking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parjil/pseuds/parjil
Summary: He didn’t feel a burst of warmth in his chest or a tingle spread from fingertip to toe. No rush of endorphins when he read the results of the blood test from the medical scanner.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 133





	1. where do we go from here?

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my tumblr; parjiljehavey

**i.**

He didn’t feel a burst of warmth in his chest or a tingle spread from fingertip to toe. No rush of endorphins when he read the results of the blood test from your medical scanner. 

Boba felt a tightness that echoed and resounded in his chest with the knowledge that this child would always be in danger because of the reputations you both had. He thought about his younger years; It was different this time, he told himself. 

He’d make it be different.

 **ii**.

The trip to Quesh was spent in silence as you spent the time sleeping, broken only by the occasional retching and dry heaving that left you shaky, weepy, and sweating in a way that Boba didn’t like. 

Boba squeezed into the already cramped refresher to hold your hair back when that happened. 

**iii**.

Quesh’s atmosphere had been poisoned over three millennia ago due to mining, and while the air quality had improved since then, immunizations and boosters were still required to go dirtside. You hadn’t been pleased when Boba had ordered you to stay behind on the ship. Boba wasn’t willing to risk it. 

When he come back to the ship a week later, quarry in tow, he’d found every weapon on board had been thoroughly cleaned to brand new sparkling perfection. He could shave just using the reflection from one of your many, many knives. 

He didn’t want to even think about the detonators having that same shine to them.

**iv.**

When your stomach began to have a noticeable swell through your gear, Boba took you to one of his safehouses. The apartment was at the end of a hallway, defensible even without the very illegal security system that Boba upgraded when you arrived and the panic room he set about installing as the pregnancy progressed.

**v.**

It was when you had pressed Boba’s hand to your belly so he could feel the baby move that he felt the tightness that had made it’s home in his chest elevate some. 

If Boba started sleeping with an arm over your belly, you never said anything. 

**vi.**

Your mood swings were few and far between, but when they struck, they’d last the day and you’d be fine the next. There were times when Boba would walk into a room and find you crying over nothing.

One memorable moment for Boba was when you yelled at him in the middle of the night to stop breathing because it was making you nauseous. Laughing earned him a night out on the couch. You had joined him less than ten minutes later, dragging the blankets with you because it was cold without him.

**vii.**

Eventually, a job offer from the Hutts came just as you entered the third trimester. From Jabba, specifically. 

You didn’t like that he was leaving you here; you both had more credits than you knew what to do with and you weren’t hurting for them. 

Boba married you the Mando way, gave a promise to be there before the birth, and with a gentle touch to your belly that shouldn’t have belonged to a man like Boba Fett, he was gone. 

_bonus_

**viii.**

Boba didn’t come back before the birth. He didn’t come back for it, or after it. For all intents and purposes, Boba Fett was MIA. 

Anxiety clawing at your stomach and sore from the birth, you returned to the apartment with little Jekiah in a sling across your chest. Your son was born with a head full of dark hair, and was the angriest baby you had ever heard. There was no doubt that this was Boba’s son. 

The few contacts that you could trust kept their ears to the ground, but the only thing that come up was that Jabba was dead and the power vacuum was bloody. That news did nothing to calm you. The tension made nursing your son hard and you eventually switched to synth-milk. 

When Jekiah was three months old, you watched as the Rebels destroyed the second Death Star over Endor. 

The next month, the Empire occupied the planet.


	2. this isn't where we intended to be

**ix**.

The first thing the Imperials did after setting up their garrison was confiscate any weapons. They searched house by house, apartment by apartment. The only things they didn’t take were the kitchen knives. You were lucky enough that the panic room Boba built was hidden from almost every scanner imaginable, leaving the armory Boba had on this world unseized. 

Jekiah had chosen then to wail his little heart out from the bedroom, announcing his anger that his noon meal was being delayed to all who could hear. It took everything in you to not laugh when the stormtroopers and the scrawny little officer with them flinched. 

There was a diner around the corner from the apartment that you had started frequenting because you had became obsessed with their milkshakes during your pregnancy. The twi’lek that owned it was an older woman with long lekku she draped around her neck who carried herself in a way that you recognized. 

It was Sinya’s diner that the locals gathered in afterhours to discuss the Imperial occupation a month after the weapons has been taken. The blinds were shut, casting the room in near darkness except for the dim green glow of the menu signs.

Jekiah was strapped to your chest, content to sleep against your breast while voices rose when someone in the diner proposed fighting back against the Empire. A raucous arose as all attending agreed. 

Sinya spoke up, “We’ll need to run reconnaissance to get a better idea of their numbers and the heat they’re packing.”

You should have kept your mouth shut and your head down, if only for Jekiah’s sake. It’s what Boba would have wanted you to do; with few exceptions, when did you ever do what Boba wanted? 

“I can take care of that.” Heads turned and the crowd parted to stare at you, a woman with her baby. Sinya looked at you, and you looked at her. A tattooed brow was raised.

“You sure?” She gestured to Jekiah. 

You looked down at your son, rubbing your thumb over his dark downy hair. He nestled his face further against your breast, seeking out your heartbeat. 

“Yes. I am.”

 **x**.

He had woken up with the gritty taste of sand in his mouth, his skin burning and itching, and his armor missing. _Shab’la_ Jawas.

It was the Sand People, who had ultimately rescued him and tended to the wounds he’d gained from the Sarlacc. He wasn’t able to translate what they were saying without his _buy’ce_ , but he was able to communicate enough with them with the sign language that any hunter worth their spit learned when they spent enough time chasing targets through the sands of Tatooine. 

He was given clothing and weapons once he was well enough to leave, and went on his way to begin the long trek back to Jabba’s palace. He had no doubt that anything that wasn’t nailed down had already been taken after news of the Hutt’s death had spread. Boba was confident that the Slave I was still where he had left it when he arrived. 

Sure enough, the Firespray-31 was still there. Usually, he’d lower the ramp through his HUD, however, lacking his armor, Boba had to use the security code. It hadn’t changed in decades; he had it memorized. Accessing the security logs, Boba cursed.

It’d been five months since he left you heavily pregnant in his safehouse. 

_Fierfek_.

 **xi**.

A week after the meeting, you left Jekiah with your neighbor, two older women who had cooed over Jekiah ever since you’d come back from the medical center. Jekiah had learned how to cling to your shirt and had refused to let go, right up until a brightly colored nexu plush entered his field of vision. He’d been entranced with the neon pink toy and had let go easily after that. 

The Zabrak grinned, “One of our nephew’s old toys. He won’t miss it.”

Returning to the apartment, you opened the panic room. Weapons lined the wall, far out of reach of a child and a case held your gear. The [armorweave](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fstarwars.fandom.com%2Fwiki%2FArmorweave%2FLegends&t=ODUwZmM5NzA3ZmMwYmY0YzRjOWI5MDFlOWRjMzk5MzYyY2Q4MzNjZSxiNFFQQTZVNw%3D%3D&b=t%3ApUOqGktwvMvjduhY2yu6qA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fparjiljehavey.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F637417201096392704%2Fthis-isnt-where-we-intended-to-be&m=1&ts=1608592918) long coat and pants you had once worn regularly were a little too tight across your belly and hips, but thankfully, you still had mobility. You could handle this small discomfort; it was nothing compared to the later stages of your pregnancy and Jekiah’s birth. 

You attached the stealth generator to your belt, making double sure it’d stay there with tape. Next went on your boots, and then your visor, followed by your gloves and gauntlets. 

The [gloves](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fstarwars.fandom.com%2Fwiki%2FCrushgaunt%2FLegends&t=NTMyZTYxNTE4ZDc4Yzk0NjM0NzhiMjRjYjZiMDJkNDZmYmEyMDFiNixiNFFQQTZVNw%3D%3D&b=t%3ApUOqGktwvMvjduhY2yu6qA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fparjiljehavey.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F637417201096392704%2Fthis-isnt-where-we-intended-to-be&m=1&ts=1608592918) had been a gift from Boba; “They’d been outlawed in the Mandalore system for centuries,” he had said, “but I figured you’d appreciate these in your arsenal.” 

Another gift had been the heavy, matte black gauntlets. The wristblade had utterly delighted you. You’d asked Boba what they were made of that made them so heavy. His answer had been beskar. It had taken you some time to learn how to fight with them on, something Boba had helped you with. You had ended up with more bruises than he had, some more pleasurable than others. 

An ache in your chest came up and a lump formed in your throat. You swallowed around it and pushed on. You had a job to do.

You ran a systems’ check twice, ensuring that your vitals read correctly and the targeting system was accurately linked to your rifle. Happy with the results, you activated the stealth generator, and made your way out of the apartment building entirely. You kept to the shadows of alleyways and near cover. 

Following a returning patrol, you infiltrated the Imperial garrison.

 **xii**.

He’d elected to shave off the rest of his hair; most of it was already gone, the Sarlacc’s digestive acid killed the hair follicles. He inspected his wounds; no matter how primitive the Tuskens may be, they’d done a good job at patching him up. The wounds that were still healing he covered with a bacta-patch. 

It had been a difficult decision, but, Boba had chosen to pursue his missing armor. He knew you’d understand why he didn’t immediately return; it was his father’s armor. You’d be furious with him, more than likely banish him from bed, but you’d understand. 

It didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at his gut. 

It didn’t stop him from waking up expecting to feel his arm asleep from you laying on it to curl against his chest or feel your cold feet pressed against his legs. 

**xiii**.

Over the next two weeks, you infiltrated the garrison several more times gathering information on troop movements and supply routes. There was more than one garrison on the planet; as soon as news spread to the others, they’d be swarming like flies on a carcass. This was going to be a hard and dirty fight. 

You said as much at the next meeting in Sinya’s. 

“If we are going to do this, we’re going to need more numbers than what we have.” 

A large Nikto stepped forward. “Mercenaries? Lady, we ain’t got the money for that!” 

Sinya was watching you from behind the counter. She nodded at you.

“Let me worry about the money. As soon as the mercenaries are planetside, start bringing the people from smaller towns and the farms inside.”

 **xiv**.

Finding Sandcrawlers was easier from the air; it’d take months to traverse Tatooine on foot. He stopped in Mos Eisley, Mos Espa, and Anchorhead intermittently as he needed supplies and fuel. He picked up scrap metals to barter with the Jawas for information. This routine continued until a priority alert came across. 

Liberation from Imperial Garrison. Boba’s stomach sunk.

There was no thinking as he plotted a course back to the planet. No other thought as the _Slave I_ gained altitude. 

Just you.

 **xv**.

Sinya had had her pegged as a hunter as soon as she had first walked in months ago. She always looked around, noting exits and entries. Standard merc behavior, Sinya remembers doing that before she retired; Goddess, she _still_ did it. 

The bump on her belly made Sinya decide she wasn’t a threat. The delight she took in the milkshakes was endearing. Sinya had made sure that every time she saw her on the way in, a milkshake was already being blended. Especially when she started coming in with her baby boy strapped to her chest. That baby was the grumpiest little thing Sinya had ever seen. 

It was nice, Sinya decided, once everyone had left after the woman had reported back on her findings and it was decided that they did need mercenaries, to talk shop with someone who knew their stuff. Sinya missed the merc life somedays. 

Sinya listed off every large mercenary company that she knew was still in existence. Even Black Sun. 

“No,” She shook her head. “If the Imperials offer more, they’d switch sides. Even if they didn’t, it’d be another battle to get them off. We’d be trading one for the other. That’s a risk we can’t afford. We need people who hate the Imperials just as much, if not more then we do.” 

Sinya’s tattooed brows furrowed. “Who are you thinking of?”

The woman smiled.

_**bonus** _

**xvi**.

He heard a low whistle from somewhere in the _Oyu’baat_ when a priority alert popped up on the bounty board. The bartender fiddled with a control panel, enlarging the alert so it overtook other listings. It got Shysa’s attention, the _Mand’alor_ dropping his feet off his table as he stood up.Noise died down until the only sound was the boloball game.

**_100,000 credits for every Mandalorian that signed up for the liberation of a small world out in the Outer Rim from the Empire. A 10,000 credit bonus was being offered for every piece of artillery that was brought in. Payment would be given from stocks, proprieties, or cold hard cash, per the contractor’s preference._ **

_Osik._ That was a lot of credits for a small world to be offering. He wondered where they were getting that kind of money. And it was _specifically_ requesting Mandalorians. 

Shysa clapped his hands together, drawing attention away from the board and to himself. He climbed up on top of his table looking out over the crowd of _Mando’ade_. 

“Well, _vode_. Who wants to go kick the Imperials _shebs_ again?”

Cheers of _Oya_ rang out and _Mird’ika_ howled as he pulled on his fine, gray gloves. 


	3. deep in my heart i'm concealing (things that i'm longing to say)

**xvii**.

Veka I had been a colony world back in the time of the Sith Empire. One of the rulers, Emperor Kalleth or Empress Kallig he wasn’t quite sure; Sith names were complicated _osik_ , had endeavored to give the _dar’jetti_ a foothold in the Outer Rim. When the Sith Empire disappeared some thousand years ago, Veka I had found itself liberated. Fenn wasn’t sure exactly why this world had been chosen; it held no tactical value and it wasn’t exactly a trading hub, not like Nar Shaddaa or New Makeb.

The one planet of the most value in this system was Veka II and it’s mining for shiny rocks and gemstones. 

Initial planetary scans showed the everything dirtside was in an uproar; wildfires were burning on the western side of the planet and skirmishes all over the planet. Flying over the landscape showed carters from artillery bombardment. Not what Fenn had been expecting if he was being completely truthful. 

They’d been directed to land just outside one of the larger towns; spaceport had been converted into a refugee center the control operator had said. The landing zone had been cleared of grass by setting it on fire, turning up the soil and compacting the dirt down again. 

He’d expected some beaten down and terrified locals that didn’t know the stock end from the pew-pew side of a blaster. What they’d found was something else. The locals were scared, yeah; but they weren’t nearly pissing themselves and they weren’t downtrodden. 

Barricades and defenses made of rubbles had been erected around the landing zone, AA guns and turrets installed along the perimeter. Tents were erected, bearing symbols for medical. Field hospitals.

Further into town, all the buildings bore carbon scoring and rubble was piled up. Some buildings were completely torched; scorched shells of what they once were. The Imperial Garrison was one of those, Fenn had seen the charred remains of the structure as they flew in. 

A line of people were outside a diner with a steady stream leaving. All carried food. Another line was at a cantina. At the center of town, Fenn got a feeling that it was used to be a market square similar to Chortav Meshurkaane. At the center was a fountain where people sat on the rim, ringing out wet clothing as _ad’ike_ ran around playing. 

A field tent had been erected nearby to protect a command table where holo-displays of the surrounding area were projected. At the table stood two women, one twi’lek and one human with a human baby on her hip. These two were armed and outfitted professionally compared to everyone else Shysa had seen. 

The baby held a neon pink nexu plush and had similar features to many babies Shysa had seen since the Clone Wars ended. The twi’lek had heavy armor and a pistol, while next to the human was a rifle that was nearly as long as she was tall. 

“Fenn Shysa. Heard ya need some help kickin’ the Imps off this planet.”

 **xviii**. 

The plan had originally been to wait for the Mandalorians to arrive and stagger them and their equipment into the town. That plan had been thrown out with extreme prejudice when circumstances changed dramatically. 

It had been a hard eight days of battles and skirmishes in the streets as the Imperials launched artillery shells, scarring the land outside the city walls with craters and completely collapsing more than one building that left rubble and debris clogging the streets. 

You had to give it to the Sith Empire; when they originally built this place, they’d made it to last. The spaceport was charred and scarred by carbon yes, but it withstood the shelling better than anything else. That was where the civilians who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight were directed. 

You’d left Jekiah in the care of your neighbors with a supply of synthmilk and the breastmilk you’d been able to produce. Jekiah had gotten better at nursing from your breast since the first few times you had tried, but he’d begun weaning himself two weeks ago. 

The seven days you were gone caused an ache in your breasts and you stopped several times to express the milk out when it became unbearable as you slipped behind enemy lines, shanking stormtroopers between their armor plates. Once you’d reached a good sniping point, you sat and created a killing field as Sinya led the push towards the garrison. 

You had hoped to take the Imperials armory and their own artillery, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Someone from your side had gotten into the garrison with explosives. The garrison went up in flames on the eighth night and lit the sky up in orange. When the sun rose the next morning, the remaining Imperials had surrendered or fled. 

What could be salvaged was repaired and barricades were made from the rubble. Sinya’s contacts had supplies coming in at a standard rate. The first ship had soap, alcohol for the cantina, and weapons on it. You were really beginning to love Sinya. 

It was another two days before the first ship of Mandalorian mercenaries landed with Fenn Shysa making introductions and the artilleries that was desperately needed. The first million left your accounts that very night. Unsurprisingly, they wanted credits. 

**xix**.

Jaing landed with the second wave of Mandalorians. He’d fletched some cannons from the armory at Kyrimorut to bring along, as well as some explosives. Shysa handled the payouts in regards to credits. Any one wanted real estate or stocks had to talk to the contract holder. 

The contract holder was a woman with a baby on her hip and a rifle slung across her back. She was all cold, hard professionalism with a hint of wariness as Mird whined at her feet, wanting to play with the kid like it played with the _ad’ike_ back home.

“Never seen a baby that grumpy before.” Jaing wiggled his fingers at the baby, getting a grunt in return from the _ad’ika_. The baby that looked similar to Jaing’s many nieces and nephews, all dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, and not a trace of the mother’s features. Granted, none of Jaing’s nieces and nephews ever looked at him like they wanted to shank him in the kidney or bite his hand off. 

It got a smile from the woman. She didn’t seem at all concerned that she was talking to someone who sounded similar to whoever father this baby. 

“Jekiah gets it from his father.”

Huh. An old Mando name. Ordo had a Jekiah running around raising several kinds of hell, giving his _buir_ more gray hair every day. Jaing had actually frogmarched the kid off the ship and back to his parents. 

_This_ Jekiah leaned to swat at Jaing’s hand with the pink nexu and a glare. 

Jaing was calling it now; this kid was going to be vicious as an adult. 

**xx**.

The sight of smoke in the atmosphere made his stomach lurch. The west side of Veka I was on fire and he could see quick flashes across the planet. Dropping into atmo, he took in the battered landscape marked with craters. As he approached the town with the setting sun, Boba sent the request to land in the spaceport.

_“Unidentified aircraft, please make for landing zone 334 Besh. The spaceport has been shut down for refugees.”_

He landed near a charred husk of a structure. The remains of AT/STs told him it was an Imperial garrison. As he came down the ramp, a figure was approaching. One he recognized just by the rifle. 

The figure stopped a foot away from him, battle-worn with dirt on their face and dust covering their longcoat. A baby was on their hip. 

“ _Mesh’la_.” He lowered his hood. 

“Boba,” You breathed, eyes soft and relief on your face.

 **xxi**.

Sinya hadn’t seen you smile like that before. When you’d come back with a scarred man at your side, she hadn’t known what to think. 

The initial thought that had crossed her mind was that yet another merc had shown up, wanting a piece of the pie. Word spread, for better or for worse. Shysa had been helpful in identifying who was Mandalorian and who wasn’t. The _Mand’alor_ had assigned a group of Mandalorians as the town guard to chase off the scum who wanted to take advantage of the heavy payout being offered. 

Sinya watched as Shysa gestured for the Mandalorians to stand down. They watched as you disappeared around the corner, heading back to your apartment building. 

“Now I wonder who that is.”

“My guess? That’d been her husband.”

Shysa hummed, a thoughtful look on his face. 

**xxii**.

“Power and water is being rationed. If you need to bathe, there’s buckets of water and flannels in the refresher. Only thing not being rationed is the toilets.” You talked as you swayed with Jekiah in your arms. 

The little boy growled, insisting on sitting up in your arms instead of reclining into the cradle against your chest to fall asleep. Boba was content to watch as the little boy was rocked to sleep, observing as little eyes drooped and finally closed with little snores. 

He watched you carefully lay Jekiah down into a cot that Boba had struggled with building prior to leaving. Jekiah grunted, kicking his feet a little before settling down again into his sleep. Boba went into the ‘fresher then, stripping out of his clothing as he went. 

The ‘fresher was illuminated orange from a battery powered lamp. True to your word, there were buckets of tepid water in the shower. The water was colder than Boba would have preferred, but it was better than the sonic shower on the Slave I. He came out with a towel wrapped around his waist and watched you setting out your equipment for the morning. Your rifle was leaning against the doorway. 

You’d changed into a nightshirt that had once been one of his shirts. He sat down on the bed, groaning as his knees popped. You looked over at him, shadowed and highlighted by the orange lamp light in equal ways. You came to stand in front of him, thumb stroking his cheek. His hands settled on your hips feeling along the softness and marks that the pregnancy had left behind and kneaded up to your soft belly. 

He coaxed you forward. You shifted, swinging a leg over his hips. Boba breathed against your neck, melting as your fingers traced careful paths over his scalp. He rumbled pressing a kiss under your jaw. Your hips rocked against him. He shuddered with you; this had been building up since he’d seen you earlier that day, battle-worn with dirt on your face and the baby on your hip.

He wrapped an arm around you, dragging you down into his lap firmly as he rutted up into you. He slipped a hand between your legs. You jerked harshly, hot breath panting on his jaw. He groaned again, finding you slippery and flushed as he sunk a finger into you. You choked, a moan dying off in your throat before erupting in a whine as he worked in another. 

“Boba.” You gasped, open-mouthed and breath hot on his ear. He reveled in hearing you say his name like this after so long; in seeing you arch with your head thrown back as you shook and your legs twitched before you slumped against him, head on his shoulder as you whimpered. “Oh gods, Boba.” 

He’d missed this. He’d missed feeling you tremble in his arms. He’d missed how you felt. He’d missed you. 

Boba withdrew his hand from you, savoring your whine of protest as he dragged against your swollen nub. He rubbed his thumb there in slow circles, listening to you hiccup and mewl. He chuckled against your ear, “You’ve never been this sensitive before.”

“I didn’t have… a baby before.” Oh, you were wrecked already. Shaky and nearly sweaty. He just needed to get you weepy and he’d be a happy man. You shook again, gasping out his name and holding his hand between your legs as you came.

You protested when he nudged you to sit up as he shucked your shirt off. He bit at your clavicle, leaving a trail of red marks as he nipped at your breasts. He squeezed them together, eyes watching in fascination as a small beads of white appeared. His breath was shallow as his thumbs rubbed the liquid into your skin. He squeezed again and pulled you up onto your knees so your chest was level with his mouth. Boba licked his lips and pulled your nipple into his mouth, giving a hard suck. 

He moaned as a trickle of something sweet hit his tongue. You whined as he turned greedy, sucking hard to get more into his mouth. He held you tighter as you squirmed determined to keep you right there. When he couldn’t get anymore, he nuzzled into the other breast. That one was empty all too soon. He parted from your breast, licking and kissing. He looked up at you and saw you biting your lip with teary eyes. That was what he wanted. He pulled you down to kiss you. 

The kiss became frantic and heated.

Boba moved his kisses from your mouth, carving a path down your throat. You started rocking in his lap, sighing. He buried his face into your neck and nipped at your skin. Boba moaned into the skin of your neck, hips grinding up into you seeking relief. Your fingers were digging hard into his shoulders. “My favorite girl.” 

“Boba, please.”

He groaned and nudged you up again so he could free himself from the towel. Your hand shot down, wrapping around him as best you could as you lowered yourself onto him. Boba’s hands kept you steady when you wobbled. Your head fell back, mouth open when your thighs met Boba’s. Boba grunted guiding your hips up and rocking you forward as you sank down again. 

A rhythm started as you rocked together. Boba’s hand tangled in your hair, applying just the right amount of pressure that got you to whine as he planted his feet firmly on the bed and thrusted up. He breathed against your cheek feeling heat pulsing through his body. You whimpered clinging to his shoulders and gasped, shaking again. He felt the warm wetness of your tears and groaned, thrusting up again, and again, grunting as he came. 

You rested against him, breathing with him as the adrenaline left you both.

 **xxiii**.

You woke up to the sound of Jekiah fussing. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the masculine softly talking. 

Your eyes opened and saw Boba sitting up in bed with Jekiah against his chest. Jekiah was staring up at his father, sucking on a bottle and waving a hand clutching Boba’s finger as Boba spoke softly to him. You smiled sleepily, reaching over to pet the soft hair on your son’s head. 

Boba turned to look at you with an expression you couldn’t read on his face. You stared at each other for a long time. Boba gestured to an object at his side. 

“What’s with the nexu?”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. 


	4. scared to confess what i'm feeling

**xxiv**.

For a moment when he’d woken up that morning, he’d thought you had been a dream. That you had haunted him as he slept. That the stale smell of sex was a phantom in his nose, that he hadn’t had you mewling in his lap and then under him leaving scratches on his back. 

Reality was cemented when he looked over and saw you next to him, pressed to his side and his arm numb from you laying on it. A weight on his chest had him craning his head down, finding a head of dark hair and a sleeping baby. Boba’s hand was large on his son’s back. He took a deep breath, savoring the sweet smell that clung to the infant. 

Boba had seen the few holo-pictures from when he’d been a baby, found when he had reclaimed his father’s ship from Ohnaka; taken from a point of view above him as he slept on what he assumed was Jango’s bed. Jekiah looked exactly like Boba had then, and as such, what Jango had looked like as a baby. Boba couldn’t find any of your features when he looked at his son. 

You shifted, moaning into his shoulder with your hand trailing down Boba’s waist. You grunted and Boba watched as you blearily opened your eyes.

“He’s going to want to nurse soon.” You yawned out the last word, rolling off of his arm so you stretch. 

Boba admired your figure, taking in the scar running down the length of your spine and the marks on your thighs that spoke to your skin stretching. Jekiah grunted in his sleep, smacking his lips. You cooed, rolling over again and running your finger under the baby’s chin. 

“Wake up, little one.” 

Jekiah grumbled, rubbing his face into Boba’s chest to escape. Boba himself just laid there and watched, taking in how soft your eyes were as you shifted to sit up right, moving your pillow to support your back. You lifted Jekiah off his chest, cradling him to your chest as you continued to coax him awake. Boba sat up to watch over your shoulder as Jekiah opened his eyes and began to nurse. 

You hummed, smiling.

**xxv**.

It was the night before final push into New Adasta, the closest thing to a capital city that Veka I had, began. In the week that Boba had been here, the Imperials had been pushed back into New Adasta and were pinned between the rebels in the city and the ones closing in. The Mandalorians led by Fenn Shysa had driven them back further and further since the capture of several AT/STs and were holding position for artillery to catch up. The end was in sight.

Your job was to go behind enemy lines, disable shuttles to prevent the Imperials from escaping and link up with the rebels in the city in a coordinated pincer movement with the Mandalorian shocktroopers that would begin their assault once the signal flare went up.

There was an added pressure since a transmission from the former Rebel Alliance come through, that a battalion was on the way to secure the planet after news had reached them of the occupation. The Sith Empire may be long gone, but the pride the Sith Imperials had had was still strong amongst Veka’s population. 

They didn’t want to rely on this ‘New Republic’ that the Rebel Alliance wanted to form. 

He’s seen you prepare a thousand times since you had first taken up residence on the Slave I five years ago. When he had finally taken you into bed, he’d watched the marks he’d left behind disappear under your pants and coat. He’s seen you stash knives on your person, knowing exactly where they went from his experience in undressing you.

Jekiah was reclined against Boba’s chest as he sucked down a bottle with great greed after he had happily thrown it with a laugh. He was beginning to switch to solid foods; Jekiah enjoyed the soft purple meat of the fruit that the locals made sure to bring back with them every time they went out on patrols. He nursed in the morning and had a bottle in the evening. 

He held the bottle in one hand and the stuffed nexu he was attached at the hip to in the another by the tail. Every now and then he’d hit Boba in the leg with it, giggling, milk dripping out of the corner of his mouth that Boba would wipe away with the towel on his shoulder. Boba had forgotten just how messy babies could be.

You finished checking over your gear, settling your pack at the door after packing and repacking it twice. Your short rifle was on a shelf by the door, out of reach of little hands that were beginning to figure out how to scoot across the floor. You sat down next to Boba on the couch, leaning your head on Boba’s shoulder. Jekiah detached from his bottle, milk dribbling down his chin as he started babbling at you. Boba had found that his son would make a consistent ‘mm’ sound whenever he saw you. 

“Yes, ‘Mama.” You cooed, taking the spit towel off Boba’s shoulder to wipe Jekiah’s face. You pointed at Boba, “That’s ‘Dada’. Dada.”

The boy looked up at Boba, reaching up at pat his face. “Yes, that’s your Dada.” Jekiah yawned, going back to suckling his bottle. 

It was ten minutes before his eyes slipped closed and the sucking sounds stopped, the bottle drooping in his mouth. You carefully extracted the bottle from Jekiah’s hand setting it on the table before Boba got up, taking Jekiah to his cot. He carefully set Jekiah down. He stared at his son, taking in the small features covered by baby fat. He felt you press against his side, arms wrapping around him. 

“Boba.” You started. He knew what you are going to bring up.

It had been a recurring point of tension between you two for the past few days. Ever since it was decided that you’d be making the solo infiltration into New Adasta ahead of the main force. You’d told him, if you didn’t make it, if you didn’t survive this assault, to take Jekiah and go. Boba didn’t like it, he didn’t want to think of it. 

You two had never had any large fights or arguments over anything in the four years you’d been together as something more than business partners; you’d always been on the same page as he was, catching on quickly when you weren’t. There’d been a few minor disagreements regarding tactics and, more frequently, ethics; it was one of the things he admired about you. You had your morals and there were lines that you wouldn’t cross. 

But this, the idea of taking your son and leaving you behind, Boba didn’t like it. “No.”

“Boba.” Your voice was strained. 

He shook his head, gesturing out of the room. Your hands curled into fists, stiffly striding out of the room ahead of him. He closed the door behind him, closing off Jekiah from what he was certain was about to become an argument. He found you pacing in the living room, tense and your face tight. He crossed his arms.

“If something happens-”

“Nothing will happen.” He doesn’t want to think of raising Jekiah without you. Of Jekiah potentially growing up without his mother; like Boba grew up without his father. “You’ll be coming back.”

You stopped in the middle of the room, looking at him for a long moment before you sighed heavily. “That’s not a certainty in this type of work and we both know it.” Your voice cracked.

Boba nodded, leaning back against the wall. He’s in denial, he knows he is in denial and you know it too. If he hadn’t crawled his way out of the Sarlaac, he wouldn’t be here right now. He sighed, shoulders slumping. It was quiet. A quiet the stretched on like the vast black of space. 

“If you don’t make it back,” Boba had to swallow around the bitter taste in his mouth. “I will take Jekiah.”

You let out a shaky breath, sitting down on the couch. Boba sat down next to you, placing a hand on your thigh. He tapped your chin with his other hand; you flinched before looking at him. You looked up at him with your lips pinched together and a look in your eyes that he didn’t like. You were scared. You were actually scared that you wouldn’t come back.

Boba pressed his forehead to yours, stroking his thumb along your jaw. He took hold of your chin to pull you into a kiss, shifting his hold to the back of your head when you opened your mouth to him.

Your hands took hold of his neck as he began climbing on top of you, pushing you back into the couch. He pressed wet kisses down your neck. Your nails dug into his scalp, and Boba grunted against your neck. He bit at your pulse point, releasing the skin from his teeth to suck hard. You squeaked bucking up from underneath him. He ground his hips into you. You gasped, bucking as you began shucking off your pants, kicking him in the knee in your hurry. Boba grunted as he undid his belt and freed his cock. 

He pushed into you, not in the mood for teasing you right now. You were still slick from when he had pushed you up onto the table earlier to bury his face between your thighs after he’d sucked the milk out of your breasts. He listened to you gasp, arching your back up and pushing into him. There was a shake in your leg. He set a slow pace, rocking into you barely moving his hips. You canted your head back into the floor, nails digging into his back. He grunted, pushing your shirt up and to bare your breasts to him, starting to pebble with white leaking out. 

He gave you a feral grin, ducking his head down suckle from you for the second time that day as he rocked into you, moaning into the flesh of your breast as you wiggled underneath him. All too soon, the milk was gone and he kissed you again. You broke it with a squeak, pressing your face into his shoulder, curling your body around him; your heel pressed hard into his thigh. 

He gripped the back of your head, fisting your hair in that way that made you mewl, pulling you away from his shoulder to look you in the eyes. 

“You’ll come back.” Boba panted, groaning. “You’ll come back and I’ll fuck you. just. like. _this_.” He thrusted hard, brutally against you with every word. He pressed a hand between you, rubbing fast circles against you.

He listened to you sob, desperate. Your legs shook and you started whimpering, choking on the noise when you found your release. Boba moaned, tongue laving at your neck as his rutted desperately into you, finding his own release. You whined slumping down when he pulled out to collapse nearly on top of you. He ran a hand down your chest, feeling you still quivering. 

“Fuck,” You had a dazed look in your eye and a fucked-stupid smile on your face. “I’ve missed you doing that.”

Boba chuckled. He shifted himself backwards onto the couch, tossing the spit towel off to the side so he could lay down. He patted his thigh. “C’mere princess.” 

You crawled over on limps shakier than a new born Fathier foal, knees giving out as you collapsed against him on the couch. He grunted as he moved your elbow out of his gut, pulling down the blanket you had insisted on draping on the back of the couch when you first got here over the two of you. You shifted to get comfortable and once you settled, Boba rested his chin on top of your head. 

“You’ll come back.” He said again. “You’ll come back.”

**xxvi**.

You’d left early that morning, reluctantly rolling off of Boba’s chest and washing what remained of your late night activities from your skin as you pumped breast milk for when Jekiah woke up in three hours. He was starting to teeth and it was beginning to hurt when he decided to work his incoming tooth on your nipple. Boba was awake when you came out dressed in your pants and undershirt, trading a cup of instant caf for the bottle of fresh breast milk that he immediately put in the food cooler. 

Breakfast was light and afterwards, Boba watched you put on your boots and coat. He personally put on your gauntlets; you noticed something different. On the left one, against the matte black, was a symbol that Boba’s armor had on his right chest plate. It hadn’t been there last night when you ran your equipment check. You said nothing, and neither did Boba. 

He secured your belt and tucked your gloves into it after you shouldered your pack and rifle. After your visor was secured to your head, Boba pressed his forehead to yours and breathed with you. You parted, kissing his cheek and went out the door. 

The troop transport that had been hijacked was cramped. You sat in-between Mandalorians in different types of armor. Some wore armor similar to Boba’s while others wore cuirasses that cover their whole torsos. Fenn Shysa sat across from you. He stared at your left bracer with an amused smile. 

Five miles from New Adasta, you parted ways from the Mandalorians, activating your stealth generator as you pasted the perimeter line and slinked off into New Adasta itself. Getting past the defensive lines took patience and knowledge of where stealth detection probe droids were. Shysa updated you on the movements, a comforting drawl in your ear when you had close calls. 

The fuel tanks burned hot and fast; your stealth field broke when a piece of shrapnel struck you, hitting your cheek with hot metal and hotter liquid. You sacrificed your water canteen to get the burning liquid off of you skin; the water come away red tinged. You’re just happy you had the hindsight to eliminated the troops in the area and disable the security cameras.

_“I’ll send a_ baar’ur _with the_ ori'ramikad _.”_ Fenn had said when you reported that you’d been wounded. _“Gotta be sure yer_ riduur _and_ ad’ika _don’t gut me when you get back, missy.”_

You laughed. Ever since Jekiah took a swipe at Shysa that first day, the Mandalorians had been cracking jokes about how ferocious your son would be as an adult. You always felt a warm bubble of pride in your chest. “The worst Jekiah will do is spit up on you, Fenn. It’s Boba you’d need to be worried about.”

_“Boba? That your husband?”_

“Yeah. Why?”

_“Nothing, nothing. It don’t matter. RV with the city rebels and get that flare up in the air. We’re chomping at the bit here.”_

**xxvii**.

There wasn’t any chatter on causalities. That’d been kept to secure lines to prevent the lowering of morale. 

Jekiah had been upset since he woke up that morning to find you were gone. He’d refused the bottle for the first hour, finally settling down enough to sadly drink half before crying miserably again. He jammed one of Boba’s fingers into his mouth to gum on, getting drool all over him and Boba’s hand. Any attempt to wipe the drool away was met with more tears. Boba decided to pick his battles. 

When word came over the comm channels reporting victory, people broke out in celebration. Dancing in the streets, kissing each other. The cantinas and bars gave away their liquor for free and it was all one could eat at the restaurants and diners. 

Boba listened to the ruckus from the apartment, staring down at Jekiah who had once more exhausted himself from crying. He hoped he wouldn’t have to add your name to Jango’s every morning.

**xxviii**.

The shuttles that survived your demolition on the fuel depot were commandeered by medics, being used to transport wounded to field hospitals. The shuttle that you were in was a civilian luxury shuttle; someone had paid a lot of money for it judging by the dark wood paneling, plush cushioned seats in the cockpit, and state of the art flight instruments. It had a full-sized bed in the spacious captain’s quarters, with an actual shower and a recessed food coolers.

It was very roomy and was a comfort to everyone aboard. No one had to sit in anyone’s laps like one shuttle’s occupants had to. 

One of the two medics aboard tended to your cheek. Kinsa Cadera was a woman around your age. 

Every one in the galaxy knows of Kinsa Kladivo; she was one of the greatest heroes in galactic history, standing on equal footing with the likes of Revan. The name of the former Jedi turned Field Marshal was a popular name for girls everywhere, with every planet having it’s variation of the name. You’d considered _Kinsa_ as a name for a daughter. 

This Kinsa wasn’t Echani. Her parents had simply admired and respected the former Jedi and named their daughter in long dead hero’s honor. Kinsa had dark hair intricately braided with bright teal threads woven in to match her armor. She was always smiling and cracked many jokes while she patched up your cheek. She removed the piece of metal lodged in your skin and carefully rubbed a soothing cream on the burns. 

“The burns won’t scar. How’s that baby of yours?”

She had a son at home with his father and twin daughters that earned their armor during this campaign. Ta’la and Shae were sweet girls; the few times you’d seen them they always cooed and played with Jekiah. Ta’la had sighed wistfully, wanting a baby as cute as your son one day. 

“Growing more every day. He’ll be crawling soon.” 

“That’s a such a fun, but aggravating stage! Just wait until he’s walking. He’ll be running out the door any chance he gets.”

You laughed. “If he’s anything like his father, he’ll be shooting a blaster before he’s two. Right now he’s teething.”

“My girls were learning how to hot-wire speeders at three. That’s their aunts’ fault.” Kinsa hummed, digging through her hip pack. She pulled out a small white tube. “Rub this on his gums where the teeth are coming in. It’ll soothe the irritation and, the best part, it helps with gas if he eats it.” She winked, tossing the tube to you. 

“I’m going to miss all of these baby tips when you’re gone.” It was nice speaking to a mother your own age. Some of the locals who’d raised children meant well when they gave you advice, but most of what they said didn’t align with how you wanted to raise Jekiah. The Mandalorians, on the other hand, had a lot of tips that you’d actually use. 

Kinsa’s eyes lit up, “I’ll give you my personal comm code. Call me if you have any questions. We can set up a playdate for our boys.” Her smile turned impish, “Or we can drink and bitch about our husbands.”

**xxix**.

When Boba saw you come with the apartment door, battle worn with bright red burns and stitches in your cheek, he left Jekiah on the floor to pressed his head to yours, breathing deeply. You smiled and said, “I’m home.”

If Jekiah hadn’t heard your voice and been demanding of being picked so he could nurse at your breast as you washed the battle off, Boba would have taken you into the bedroom to fuck you like he had promised. He would have done so after Jekiah had finished, but then a Mandalorian woman in teal armor came to the door, demanding that you join the party outside. 

You’d laughed and looked at Boba. At his nod, you headed outside, Jekiah in your arms. It led to where Boba was now, standing off to the side. Jekiah was in a circle made up of empty crates with the ground soften by layers of blankets, dubbed Baby Prison, that contained him and several other babies that couldn’t crawl or walk yet. A few Mandalorians were in the circle, out of their armor and laying on their sides or backs as they played or napped with the babies. A strill had made a nest out of even more blankets that had been supplied by the strill’s master. It trilled and whined, wiggling as it gently played with the older children.

You sat at a makeshift table, playing _cu'bikad_ ; a game that Boba recognized. Boba had played it with his father, the knives dulled as Jango had been paranoid of Boba seriously hurting himself with sharper knives. 

When Boba had asked Jango about using sharper knives, his father had promised that he’d sharpen the knives when Boba was more proficient at the game. “I don’t want you cutting a finger off.” Jango had said, swiping a drink of Boba’s juice. 

Boba’s younger self in the memory had in retaliation, stood on his chair to take his father’s mug of caf hostage and took a drink of it. Boba had wrinkled his nose at the too sweet taste, causing his father to laugh. “Is that possible dad?” He had asked, giving the caf back once he’d had his cup of juice returned to him.

“I’ve seen it happen before, son.” Jango’s smile wide and his posture relaxed. It was one of Boba’s favorite memories of his father, next to his father playing starfighters with Boba. He hoped to give Jekiah similar memories; something to remember him by when Boba was dead and gone. 

The Mandalorian you were playing against was in dark blue armor, his bucket off and on the ground next to the table. He was the strill’s master, calling it Mird’ika; a name Boba vaguely recalled. The man was a clone and Boba did his best to not focus on him. 

The woman from before was leaning over you, pointing out good and bad tips to both players, cackling when she was called out on it. It seemed you had become friends with the woman; he’d seen you two go off to get ales earlier arm in arm, giggling about something when the two of you looked over your shoulders at him. 

Some one cleared their throat next to him and Boba cast a brief glance to his right. Boba kept his expression neutral when he saw who it was. Fenn Shysa, the _Mand’alor_. Chief of chiefs. The only thing that the Mandalorians had as leadership after they kicked that Kryze woman out of the system. He knew Shysa by reputation. The blonde haired man had his helmet hooked to his belt and a glass of dark ale in his hand. 

“ _Su’cuy_.” He extended a hand. “You must be Boba.” 

He grunted, shifting a shoulder up in a shrug as he returned the gesture as he remembered doing it with his father. Boba didn’t say anything when he let go, turning back to alternating his attention between you and Jekiah. It would be an easier task, if he had had his HUD. 

His unwanted company spoke up again. “I gotta say, vod. Your missus is one helluva fighter. Saw her shank a few _shabuire_ between their armor plates during the fight. It was glorious.” 

Boba couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. “She is.” He agreed. Watching you fight was a favorite of his; when he could do it safely of course. 

“She’d be a good Mando wife. _Mandokarla_.” The right stuff.

Boba turned to looked at Shysa, meeting blue eyes. The _Mand’alor_ took a long drink of his ale. He leaned back and looked up. “You lose your armor?”

Boba said nothing. Silence stretched between the two, as silent as it could be with music playing and people chattering. The woman in teal armor jumped up and down when you won the game. You were quickly challenged to another. 

“Yer as Mando as they come.” Shysa said after a long while, finishing off his ale before speaking again. “Get your armor back, and come talk to me on _Manda’yaim_. Got an offer for ya. Bring your missus and junior too.” Shysa gestured to where you sat at the table and where Jekiah was; the twi’lek, Sinya, was in the Baby Prison playing This Little Bantha with his toes.

“Not interested.” Boba had an inkling of what Shysa wanted. Boba knew of the title that his father had once held and he’d heard the rumors of him wanting another Fett _Mand’alor_. 

Shysa hummed and nodded. “Something to think about then.” And Shysa wandered over to the circle, setting his mug down and climbing over the crates to plop down beside Sinya who he started talking to with winks and waggling eyebrows. 

**xxx**.

A week later, the Mandalorians left. Some of locals went with them, having married a Mandalorian. A shuttle had been given to you by Shysa. It was a luxury model, Boba thought. 

Right up until Boba had found the extremely illegal modifications that had been made to the shuttle and the very illegal armory, he sat there and laughed. You’d come in with Jekiah on your hip and stared at the weapons with the same wide eyes you’d look at knives with. 

Two weeks after New Adasta arrived, the first Rebel ship arrived. You and Boba slinked off world in the middle of the night. Any trace of you ever being there had been cleaned up and packed onto the shuttle. 

It was decided that you and Jekiah would live on the shuttle. It was much safer than the Slave I would be for a baby; when Jekiah was older and could understand what “Don’t Touch That” meant better and not argue about it, you’d reconvene on the matter.

Boba set a course back to Tatooine. You followed him into hyperspace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I shamelessly weaving my SWTOR lore into this again? Yep


End file.
